


cobalt

by noellesthings



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, F/M, Jealousy, Magic, Self-Loathing, Slow Burn, superpowers!Darcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:47:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24801079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noellesthings/pseuds/noellesthings
Summary: “So,” Darcy asks between mouthfuls of macaroni, “What’s new?”OR: In which Loki regularly teleports into Darcy’s apartment, and Darcy is surprisingly Okay with it.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Loki
Comments: 136
Kudos: 453





	1. newness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, for obvious reasons.

It’s Friday, Darcy is heating up a carton of macaroni-and-cheese when Loki appears in the middle of her kitchen floor. 

There’s a weird shimmer, and the space near her table ripples, sorta like the way the world ripples when she opens her eyes in a pool. When it fades away, Loki is standing in the middle of her kitchen floor.

Darcy blinks. She knows who Loki is, of course, only an idiot wouldn’t recognize the state’s number one alien supervillain. What he’s doing in her kitchen alludes her, and she blinks again, wondering, briefly, if she should call someone (who?) or throw her fork at his head, but neither of those options seem very smart. There should be shock and panic somewhere here, but all Darcy does is wrap her hands around the edges of her sleeves, and wave her plastic fork to where he stood.

“Good thing you came today.” She says, as if this is a normal occurrence. “I just did some redecorating, so if you did your voodoo-teleportation yesterday, you would have wound up inside the table.” She had moved the table a good three feet to the left where it currently stands, which is what qualifies in Darcy’s world as redecorating.

If Loki is surprised that she isn’t cowering in fear, he doesn’t show it.

He simply tips his head to the side. This close, it’s very obvious how not-human he is, rippling with an energy that makes her blood chatter and her ears hum, his eyes flashing with a green glow that’s accented by the gold in his armor, and it reminds Darcy - of all things - of something that’s curious, like a deer (a very very intelligent and analyzing deer), and entirely unharmful.

(She knows it’s a stupid thing to think. If Loki wanted to he could impale her with her very own fork, or bring the building down upon her head with a single blink. Darcy knows he’s dangerous. She’s seen the footage.)

Darcy debates saying something clever, but nothing clever or suave comes to mind. The clock ticks - have the seconds always been so loud? - and Darcy wraps her fingers tighter into the bottoms of her sweater, concealing her skin. Loki continues to stare at her. Darcy opens the microwave, ignores the way Loki tenses when she turns around, and steps forward.

“Do you want some macaroni?”

-

Loki, apparently, did not want macaroni, or at the very least, he didn’t want to take it from her. Darcy has enough time to blink, and then Loki’s holding the container of macaroni in his hands. Darcy, aware that she’s now holding nothing, puts her arms down and tucks her hands behind her back.

She watches: Loki gives the macaroni a critical sniff, produces a fork from thin air, and takes a careful bite. His face contorts, and then he’s gone. 

The macaroni container falls to the ground a second later with a thud, and melted cheese splatters all over her clean, recently redecorated floor.

-

On Saturday, he voodoo-teleports again. Darcy is already done with her dinner (chicken teriyaki takeout) and is putting her dishes into the sink. 

“Hey.” Darcy says.

Loki is dressed in his armor just like last time, and he’s still accompanied by that rippling energy that makes her ears buzz. It’s not an antagonistic buzz, but it’s not exactly comfortable. Although his expression is inscrutable, Darcy doesn’t think she’s in danger of death, so she quickly washes her plate before propping herself against the counter. She’s thankful she’s wearing her red sweater, for the sleeves are long enough that they fully conceal her hands. The rippling energy buzz dies down. 

“I did not enjoy the macaroni.” Loki says a minute later, and Darcy concludes that greetings aren’t in Loki’s vocabulary. He sounds offended and petulant, as if the macaroni’s foul flavor was somehow Darcy’s fault.

“You could have said something, instead of, you know, _throwing_ it away.” Darcy notes. “Do you know how long I had to stay up to clean that cheese off the floor?” She scowls at the memory. 

“And!” She exclaims, placing her hands on her hips, because while she’s ticking off grievances she better get them all, “I used up all of my industrial strength cleaner. You owe me.”

 _You owe me._ The words echo around the room as soon as she says them, literally, and the implication of _what_ she just said sets in.

Darcy freezes. Here she is in all her five foot eleven inches glory, demanding favors from someone who kills people, someone who maims people on a regular day basis and _laughs_. Loki stares down at her ( _damn_ , he’s tall), a challenge on his face, and although her stomach flip-flops, Darcy doesn’t falter, or look away, her eyes fixed against his vivid green ones.

Slowly, Loki’s lips curve in a thin, dangerous smile.

-

“So,” Darcy asks between mouthfuls of macaroni, “What’s new?”

They’re now sitting at her small table, which is usually meant for one person but Darcy pulled up her sofa chair which Loki eventually occupied (only after he did some sort of voodoo alien scan of it to check for bombs or poison or something). She made them food - macaroni for herself, and ice cream for Loki, because Darcy doesn’t have any other food in the house that doesn’t require actual preparation. Loki seems to be enjoying it, since he takes intermittent bites of the ice cream with his spoon.

Loki, to his credit, doesn’t look at her as if she’s insane, which is the normal reaction Darcy gets when asking what her aunt Lu calls _inappropriate questions_.

“Your Avengers continue to prove themselves as utterly useless,” Loki replies instead, which is pretty much what Darcy was expecting. It’s no secret that Loki loathes the Avengers, especially Thor, and vice versa.

Loki’s face curls up into a sneer, the first one she’s seen up close, but it’s lacking, almost. It feels forced, missing some crucial element, though Darcy can’t put her finger on what exactly that is. The expression disappears a moment later, and Darcy frowns.

“Why do you hate them so much?” Dary questions. She briefly wonders if she’s crossing some sort of boundary, but Loki is just sitting there, so she continues, “I mean, they didn’t really do anything to you, right? You just came to Earth and started killing everybody, which isn’t very nice. In the span of several years you’ve murdered thousands, destroyed buildings, and probably cost the state millions in repairs. Why?”

Vaguely, she’s aware Loki has put down his spoon. Darcy stops ticking things off on her fingers under the table, looks up, and stops talking.

She realizes, now, what was wrong about his sneer earlier. It looked forced because it was forced, and Darcy blinks around this realization, momentarily speechless.

This whole time, alien buzz aside, Loki had been _pretending_ to act human. 

He’s not doing that anymore.

The air _shudders_ , Loki leans in very, very close, close enough that she can feel his breath freeze against her cheeks. His skin is so, so pale, white like snow, and the shadows on his face grow darker, his cheekbones a knife.

Now _this_ is a sneer, this is a wrath of something not-human, and the hairs on the back of her neck are raised, screaming at her GET OUT. Loki’s eyes are fluorescent and suddenly red and sit low in their sockets, there’s a weird crack, and she realizes the table is _splitting into two_. She’s aware, distinctly, that her hands have started to spurt ice under the splitting-table, though luckily Loki appears not to notice.

“You know nothing,” he hisses, those red eyes flashing, and Darcy wants to lean back but she can’t. Her chest feels horribly wrongly tight, like there’s not enough air in the world, and mutely she realizes he’s _sucking away the atmosphere_. 

“You _are_ nothing.” Loki says, or maybe Darcy thinks that’s what he says, because her chest isn’t moving and there’s nothing she can do as the world blurs together, there’s a thunderous crack, and he’s gone.

The air loosens. Time resumes. Darcy sags against the chair.

It takes ten minutes before she can breathe normally again. It takes twenty more before she stops shaking.

Darcy places her hands in her lap, which are blue, and focuses on the color of her skin: pale blue, and her veins: navy. 

When her legs start working again, and Darcy stands up, grabs a knife, and chips the ice off the bottom of the broken table.

-

She doesn’t think she’ll see Loki again after his outburst, though Darcy flip-flops over what to do if he does suddenly return. (Just in case, she slips her gloves on and wears them constantly around the house, which is a little cumbersome, but ultimately necessary in case her hands suddenly turn blue.) Should she try to attack him? Ignore him? Run away? Briefly, Darcy considers apologizing, but decides against it, since he was the one who threw a fit over her questions, and choked her _with his mind_. He also broke her table, which was not cool.

Darcy eventually decides on doing none of the above, which is difficult because part of her still flinches whenever someone makes a loud noise, but it’s the smartest option. She can’t tell anyone that Loki teleports into her apartment because that would mean contacting SHIELD, and Darcy has her own reasons on why that is a horrible, terrible idea.

Instead, she ponders Loki’s behavior, and her own.

Darcy admits that while Loki’s ensuing battle with the Avengers might be a sore spot, that wasn’t a reason to damage her furniture. Or, you know, try to kill her. Like any other person would, if she was approaching a topic that caused him discomfort, Loki could have asked her to stop.

It occurs to her, then, that his reaction _was_ his way of asking her to stop. He was an alien, after all, and Darcy definitely wasn’t one to judge what a normal reaction was, not when her hands were currently a vivid sky blue and she used said hands this morning to freeze her boiling tea.

She doesn’t have to ponder this ordeal for very long, however, because one day later Loki appears again. It’s night, he’s in his armor, and this time he’s holding something in his hands. When Darcy realizes what it is, she laughs.

She considers how dangerous it is if she steps forward to grab the gift, but realizes she doesn’t have to, for the bottle of industrial strength cleaner is suddenly in her hands. Loki, now holding nothing, smirks. 

Darcy bends to put the cleaner in a cabinet under the sink, aware that she’s exposing a large part of her body by facing away from him, and that now would be a perfect time for Loki to stab her in the spine. He doesn’t, though, and when she turns around, Loki is staring at her table.

Darcy sighs.

She still had to figure out how to scrape some cash to order a new one. As it happens, she’s currently close to broke, and the mangled piece of furniture lay in the center of the kitchen, tipped awkwardly to the side. Darcy is more cautious when approaching him this time, and stops a good distance away from both Loki and the dispirited table. If he did that air-sucking thing again, Darcy might have a two second head start to run away, or throw her phone at him.

Loki’s face is blank, but he’s doing his weird alien buzzing again. Darcy tentatively determines that the buzzing is ashamed, slightly, which makes her feel better.

“Too bad industrial cleaner can’t fix it.” Darcy notes after the silence stretches, her voice melancholy and mournful. “I really liked that table.”

Loki seems to be ignoring her, or just not in the mood to comment. He takes one hand and runs his fingers down the table’s cracked edge. The buzz triples in volume, there’s a purple glow shimmering where Loki’s hand sat, and the table pulls itself together, standing pristinely on four legs.

“ _Woah_.” Darcy says, because _woah_ , it’s actual _magic_. Forgetting her plans to be weary and diligent, she walks over to the table and traces her hand down its surface where the crack once was. She pounds on it, and it doesn’t break into a pile of tanbark under her palm.

Darcy could pretend that it’s not a big deal that an _alien supervillain_ just fixed her table with _actual magic_ , but she’s not going to. 

“Wow. This is, this is probably the coolest thing I’ve ever seen - and that includes when I met Tessa Virtue at a coffee shop. Thank you.”

Although, Loki basically fixed what _he_ broke, so this wasn’t much of a favor, but Darcy still feels very pleased. She inspects the table some more, and is a little disappointed that it doesn’t do anything cool and un-table like, such as spew gold. Still, Loki just saved her a hundred bucks, brought her a gift, and was actually behaving _nicely_ , which defies everything the newspapers have been saying about him. Darcy decides to keep this information to herself.

Loki watches her curiously, and after a moment asks, “Do you posses any more ice cream?”

Darcy laughs - she can’t help it - before pulling out a pint of mint chip, though she pauses before setting it down on her _magically fixed table_.

“Okay, new rule.” She announces. “I ask a lot of questions. And I’m not going to stop asking questions. So, if one of my questions bothers you, and you really don’t want to answer it, say so. No more breaking my furniture, even if it was super cool watching you fix it. And you can ask me as many questions as you want, and I’ll do the same thing. We clear?” Darcy fixes Loki with her best _don’t fuck with me_ face that she’s seen bad guys do on tv.

Loki looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but his voice is serious as he inclines his head. “Agreed.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Darcy plops the ice cream container onto the table. “Let’s eat.”

-

When Monday rolls around, Darcy wakes up, pulls on some new gloves, and goes to school. 

She’s got a US Politics class at ten and an International Affairs class at two, and it feels a bit weird resuming mundane life after she’s had dinner with a supervillain, but not too weird. Soon enough Darcy is engrossed in the lesson, and her teacher assigns yet another research paper, this time on current political affairs from within the past decade, due in three days. Darcy adds this to her stack of ever-growing homework assignments.

They have to pick their topics by the end of class. Marlene is writing about immigration in the geriatric community. Erin wants to write about the sudden decrease in low-level crime. Tom, Jamie, and five other people are writing about the Avengers. 

It makes sense. Since the discovery of aliens and supernatural beings ten years ago, superheroes were very much part of the current climate, and still the topic of much debate. There’s ongoing disputes on whether the Avengers should be given this much free reign, when the government should step in to curb their behavior, and, of course, what to do about Loki. He wasn’t the only alien supervillain terrorizing Earth, but he was the most prominent one, at least in the state of New York.

Darcy settles on how current politics impact the prison system, which isn’t her favorite topic, but is still an important one. It feels too weird writing about Loki when she’s talked to him just yesterday, when she’s heard him complain about the consistency of macaroni and cheese and the way the texture feels on his tongue. And he voiced his discomfort with her even mentioning the Avengers, so Darcy feels it’s immoral to pursue the issue. She doesn’t want to shatter their semblance of trust, however ice-thin it currently is.

In fact, she realizes as she’s walking to her Internal Affairs class, she’s not averse to Loki’s company. She likes talking to him, and she definitely doesn’t want to scare him off with something as simple as a research paper.

-

Darcy is ultimately thankful for her choice in topic, for she’s putting the finishing touches on her paper a couple days later when Loki asks to see it. 

He had appeared ten minutes ago, and must have been slightly annoyed that Darcy wasn’t paying attention to him for this is the first time he’s taken an interest in her life. Darcy obliges. Loki scans the document quickly, and looks back at her with a contemplative look on his face.

“What?” Darcy prods.

“Your prison facilities are rather developed.” Loki says.

“Developed?” Darcy frowns, because maybe he didn’t understand her paper properly, or she just sucked at getting her point across, which was atypical. Darcy was good at writing.

Loki simply hums.

“There’s actually a ton of problems.” Darcy says. “In the United States the prison population is way too big. The conditions can be really inhumane, and a ton of times prisons don’t even help reform the prisoners. It's also really difficult for released prisoners to rejoin society, since they face all these problems when they get out of the clink - unemployment, low self-esteem, no emotional support. And that just means the person will be forced back into crime to survive. It’s really shitty.”

“Your prisoners have immediate access to a therapist, counseling, visitation, a commissary.” Loki points out, referencing her paper. “On Asgard there is none of this. You remain in your cell till the Allfather deems your punishment worthy. There’s no light, no heat, and certainly no therapy.”

“That sounds a lot like solitary confinement. When does the Allfather let you out?” 

“Three thousand years is the most typical sentence.

“That’s horrible!” Darcy exclaims, ignoring the roadblock her brain hits with _three thousand years_.

Loki shrugs. “Horrible for you, yes. I’ve concluded there are worse fates.” His face grows bitter, for a moment, and then he continues, “It’s the way life operates on Asgard.”

Darcy shakes her head, looking back at her paper. “And I thought things here were messed up.” She decides she’s not a fan of this Allfather guy. 

A thought hits her, and she turns to Loki, adding a light chuckle to her tone that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve never been in that prison though, right?” 

Loki smiles bitterly. “Not in that one, no.”

Darcy’s mouth parts, though she quickly closes it. “But you’ve been in _another_ prison?”

“Yes.”

“On Asgard? On another planet?”

Loki’s mouth is a thin line.

Darcy is aware that she’s treading on thin ground, but plods ahead anyways.“How long were you stuck there?”

The air bubbles, or maybe it shifts. “ _Enough_ ,” Loki growls, and then he’s towering over her, casting both Darcy and her computer in a darkness. His shadows are dark, deep, petrifying, the air around her growing stale, and a jab in her chest tells her it’s getting difficult to breathe-

and Loki steps back. 

The air loosens. Darcy gasps, one gloved hand flying to her chest. She coughs, sagging against the table in relief, and breathes.

Loki is trying very hard to contain himself. Darcy can tell: the buzzing flickers around the room intermittently, jumping in and out of focus like tv static. Loki’s eyes are closed and he seems to be muttering something under his breath in another language, and from this angle his skin looks blue. 

Loki’s eyes snap open. The buzzing stops.

“I feel uncomfortable with this line of questioning.” He says eventually, slowly, eyeing Darcy critically from where she lay.

Darcy picks herself off the table, very, very thankful she’s wearing gloves. Her chest rises and falls, and Loki’s eyes flicker to it, momentarily, and then back to her face.

“Okay.” Darcy says simply. She’s still reeling from Loki’s choke-thing, and her brain feels muddled, like it’s trying to regain its bearings. She’s incredibly surprised Loki even remembered their prior arrangement, but her heart’s hammering too fast to acknowledge how important this moment is right now.

She swallows. Breathes. Loki blinks at her, and, thankfully, doesn’t say anything else.

“I’m making us some coffee.”

Darcy stands up, walks over to the cupboard, and pretends not to notice Loki’s eyes drilling a hole into her spine.

-

She doesn’t see Loki again for a whole week, during which Darcy ignores her slight annoyance at his sudden disappearance, and focuses on her schoolwork. She wonders if their last conversation scared him off, a thought which makes her skin crawl unpleasantly, so Darcy pushes the Loki-debacle from her mind, finishes her essay, and gets started on the essay after that, even though it’s due two weeks from now.

Later, she learns over the news that there’s been a bomb threat in city hall, a fire started in the White House, and a mob boss escaped from one of New York’s maximum facilities. She’s not sure which of these events were started by or involved Loki, but she knows he spends the next day fighting the Avengers. The news footage captures it all, as usual, and Darcy sits on the couch with tense, sky blue fingers, watching the way Loki spun, bobbed, and turned, his haze of magic bubbling across the city. 

The camera cuts suddenly, zooming in on Thor and Loki. Thor’s got Loki cornered on the roof of some burning building that looks a lot like the Chrysler, and Thor leans in, and says something, though his voice isn’t audible. Whatever he says causes Loki’s expression to contort, that real sneer so dark and dangerous that it makes Darcy shudder in her living room. Then Thor’s fancy hammer swings into the frame, and Thor throws Loki off the roof.

Loki arrives in her living room an hour after Darcy’s turned off her tv. He looks, well, like a guy who was in a battle for the past six hours, sweat under his eyes, hair scattered around his head, and his armor is black in several places, as if charred.

He also looks pretty healthy for someone who was just tossed off a seventy-seven story building. Aside from a bruise on his eye and a thin cut on his neck, he’s unharmed, and if he is in pain, he’s not showing it. Darcy is glad he’s not dead, though Loki only laughs when she tells him so.

“What did Thor say to you?” Darcy asks. She gestures to the tv with her remote. “I was watching the footage.”

Loki looks like he just ate something very sour, or more appropriately like he consumed a bowl of macaroni and cheese. “Nothing of your concern.” He snaps, which is technically an answer, even if it’s not a helpful one.

He plops into the sofa chair, which Darcy has now left as a permanent installment to her table. The motion raises a cloud of dust into the air that stuck to his armor during the battle, and Darcy coughs. Loki snaps his fingers, and the dust disappears.

“Thanks.” Darcy says. And then, “You and Thor are siblings, right?” She’s learned as much from the news, and Thor himself, back when Jane was dating him, and Darcy was still friends with Jane.

Loki nods.

“You two have a lot of sibling rivalry.” Darcy notes.

Loki looks annoyed by the current topic, and sits there with such expression on his face. He’s not verbally expressing discomfort as they agreed to, though, so Darcy continues.

“It’s very common here. There’s a bunch of psychological studies on it. I also wrote a paper on sibling rivalry in freshman year. It got full marks.” Darcy pauses for a moment to look properly smug. “Anyway, there’s a lot of factors can cause sibling rivalry, like which kid was born first, personality, or the way parents treat their kids when they’re growing up.”

Loki stares at her, and Darcy is reminded of the first time they met. He furrows his brow, slightly, and the energy that fizzes around him is curious, and a little sad.

“This concept of sibling rivalry is not studied on Asgard. There is certainly no published literature on the topic.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Darcy announces. “I’ll bring you some of my psychology books next time you come.”

-

Loki, it turns out, is a fast reader.

Like, super-genius fast.

It takes him a total of twenty minutes to read her procured psychology 101 book of nine hundred pages, which she expected would occupy him for at least several days.

When he closes the book with a loud _thump_ , Darcy stares at him with wide eyes. “You finished?”

Loki nods.

“Already?”

Loki, now looking at her a little suspiciously, nods again.

“What the heck.” Darcy blurts. “That’s _so _cool. My aunt’s daughter can read crazy fast, but this is another level.”__

__Loki stares at her blankly, and Darcy thinks he’s mulling her comment over, but she can’t be too sure. The hum and buzz around him feels new, and it takes Darcy a moment to determine the emotion behind it: self-conscious, and… pleased._ _

___Huh._ Darcy thinks, looking down at her gloved palms. The buzz is low and ubiquitous, and while Darcy doesn’t exactly know what the buzz is, (her current theory is it’s somehow connected to Loki’s metabolic system, the way a human coughing will tell you they either need water or are getting sick) she has gotten used to its presence._ _

__Whatever Loki was mulling over, he seemed to have reached some sort of conclusion. Several minutes into her work, he says, “Thank you.”_ _

__Darcy nods. Without looking up from her computer, she questions, “Can all Asgardians read super fast, or just you?”_ _

__“Just me.” Loki responds, with a grin. “Reading and decoding magical texts are,” he pauses, “frowned upon, on Asgard, so not many dare to do it. Granted there are several other Asgardians capable of reading quickly, but I have not contacted them in some time.”_ _

__“Frowned upon? Why’s that?”_ _

__“All Asgardians are raised to be warriors. It is considered the superior skill. Magic, and the ability to practice it, is a trait seldom seen in children across the Nine Realms. One must be genetically predisposed to practice it, and if the trait does appear, it’s generally ignored. On Asgard it is statistically rare for children to possess the proper genetic configuration to even show signs of magic. With the proper upbringing one can be taught to control their abilities, but that is, again, infrequent.”_ _

__“Who taught you magic?”_ _

__“My mother.”_ _

__Darcy looks up, but Loki’s nose is turned back into her book, probably to re-read it for a second time, in a way that’s obviously intentional.__

____

____

__Darcy doesn't know much about Loki’s family (aside from his asshole-sounding father Odin, and brother Thor) so to hear him bring up his mother is unusual. His tone was soft, calm, and Darcy wonders how close they are. Certainly Loki’s never besmirched his mother before, and she bets it must be difficult to keep in contact with a relative when you’re on another planet._ _

__Watching Loki promptly re-read the psychology book, Darcy realizes how little about Loki she truly knows, at least when his family is concerned. Then again, Loki knows nothing of her own family, and at the moment, Darcy’s going to keep it that way._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have this fic finished and completely written out. I am currently working on a sequel, but I decided to put this first chapter out here to motivate myself to write said sequel faster. My Offical deadline is to finish the sequel by the end of July, and to post the next chapter of _cobalt_ as soon as the sequel is complete. My brain is already swirling ideas for a trilogy.... but that’s a Later thing altogether.
> 
> Clearing Things Up: Darcy has powers, and entirely by coincidence they’re similar to Loki’s. Not related to the Avengers plotline in any way, consider this a standalone in the MCU.


	2. adjustment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I’d post this in way back in July? Time sorta slipped away from me there, and, of course, I still haven’t finished the sequel. Regardless, here’s chapter two, for those of you who stuck around to read it!

During her weekly call with her aunt, Darcy mentions Loki. Not literally, of course; Darcy takes several creative liberties, edits out the magic parts, and swaps Loki’s name with Logan for the final flourish. It stings to lie to her aunt like this, but she knows it’s necessary. Darcy’s not ready to admit that Loki has been frequenting her apartment on a regular day basis for the past two weeks, and although they’ve been growing closer, Darcy’s still not exactly sure what her entire relationship with Loki is, and vice versa. 

Suffice to say, she explains that an unexpected person has been stopping by her apartment, and that the two have become friends.

“I’m glad you let me know.” Lu says over the phone, and Darcy nods.

“Of course.” Darcy never keeps secrets from her aunt, excluding this very specific scenario.

“But if Logan starts any funny business, you know what to do, right?”

“Taze him in the chest and send him on his way.” Darcy recites, and Lu laughs. 

“That’s right.” She says. “Now, how’s your day going along?”

-

Loki starts coming daily over the next three weeks, appearing at or after Darcy’s dinner. However, there hasn’t been much time for their usual banter. Lately her professors had nefarious goals to drown Darcy in an endless ocean of schoolwork, so she’s been spending all of her evenings doing said work. 

During these times Loki sits on her couch and reads books. Darcy has been hauling textbooks back and forth on a regular day basis for school, though once Loki reads through those she selects some more complex texts from her university’s library at random. Loki soon starts requesting specific books, which causes Darcy to spend all of her lunchtime with the librarian, James, who helps her track down said books. Sometimes he has to order them from some other big-name locations. Darcy tried flipping through some of these books once, and decided to leave Loki to his complex science-jibber alone.

With his every appearance, Loki has started acting more relaxed. If Darcy didn’t know he was so smart, she’d think it was strange how quickly he adjusted to Earth’s culture. He now only rarely pesters her to explain more foreign concepts such as the internet, or why anyone would purchase abstract art, and mastered human slang in a manner of minutes.

One day, Loki shows up without his armor. 

Darcy can’t help but stare. Loki looks utterly _normal_ (a relative term all things considered, but still). He’s wearing a thin green shirt and a black coat that looks simultaneously rough to touch and very warm. A scarf rests around his neck, and Darcy’s cheeks heat up when she wonders where he might have picked that up from.

Loki smirks at her, as if he can tell exactly what she’s thinking, and Darcy’s hands grow blue beneath her gloves. She has a moment of pure panic, and hides this through a mountain of questions.

Darcy has _so_ many questions. 

She asks him where and how he got the clothes, how he knows what’s fashionable, because Loki dresses like someone who’s been living on Earth their entire life, as opposed to a colorblind monkey. In all honesty, Darcy hasn’t thought about what Loki would look like in a typical outfit, but she’s sure her imagination would have procured Loki in a set of mismatched, overly bright clothes, instead of the casually dressed God she sees before her.

To these questions, Loki frowns. “What do you mean _how_? I acquired clothes in a way that follows Midgardian protocol: shopping.” 

Darcy tries very hard to picture it, but the image of Loki searching through the shirts section at Men’s Wearhouse is very hard to wrap her head around.

Loki admits he might have down some ‘magicing’ (Darcy’s words) to get the clothes from the store and into his possession, which Darcy is slightly envious of (shopping without the hassle of actually shopping) and also leaves her wondering if she’s aiding and abetting a thief since Loki openly admitted to shoplifting. Then again, with Loki there were a lot more _serious_ crimes to be worried about, and Darcy wasn’t planning on reporting those, either.

“Loki,” Darcy asks a couple days after the following discussion, slightly amazed that she never considered this concept till now, “Do you have money?”

Loki flips another page in his book - something long and complex about DNA. This time he’s dressed in a long sleeve shirt, navy scarf, and jeans which Darcy for some reason can’t seem to not stare at. Darcy is sitting at the table, and Loki is on the couch, one long leg crossed over the other. 

He lets out a highly elegant snort. “Of course I have money,” he says, in a tone that implies she was the one being ridiculous.

“Oh.” Darcy says. “How?” She thinks about it and comes up blank, because she hasn’t seen ‘robbing a bank’ on his long list of criminal activities. “I can’t imagine being a supervillain pays very well.”

“You’d be surprised.” Loki says. He looks up from the book, finally, green eyes glowing brightly under her lights. 

“People _pay_ you to be a supervillain?” 

“Let’s just say I’m involved in a lot of unsavory businesses.” He says evasively.

“What kind of businesses?” Darcy presses, and she can tell by Loki’s knowing smirk they aren’t legal, and definitely dangerous. “Arms? Drug dealing?”

“Drugs, no.” Loki responds. “Arms, yes. Weapons trafficking. There are more than a couple parties interested in SHIELD’s newest technology, which I happened to acquire.”

“Jesus.” Darcy says, flopping her head back, before remembering she wasn’t sitting on the couch. She transfers over to said couch beside Loki, where she can properly flop there. 

She’s not sure what to think about all this, but for some reason the idea of Loki in possession of SHIELD’s weapons sits better with her than the thought of SHIELD having them, which probably should be more troubling than it is.

Darcy gives Loki a curious look. “So, if you were to liquidate all your funds, how much money would you have?”

Loki doesn’t flinch. “Let’s just say, my most recent shipment earned me twelve million dollars.”

Darcy promptly starts to cough, and doesn’t stop for another five minutes.

-

For the next month, Loki starts to consistently arrive closer to seven pm. Finals are assigned in a short couple months, and Darcy shifts her schedule accordingly: she clears the hours from seven to ten free of responsibilities, and spends them chatting away with Loki and listening to his latest exploits. When Loki leaves, Darcy stays up late into the night finishing research papers and presentations and the occasional biology worksheet, studying for tests and rehearsing presentations and preparing for finals in advance. 

She starts running less on sleep and more on coffee, and almost forgets to put on new gloves before she goes to school. Twice. That should have been her first warning.

With Loki and school and mandatory lectures, as well as the occasional battles which cause the city to close down, Darcy admits that balancing a full plate of things has been a little bit stressful, but it’s fine. 

Sure, she doesn’t have time to go shopping because her presentation is due in three days. 

And sure, she gets a panic attack every time her hands turn blue when Loki’s in the room. But it’s nothing she can’t handle. Exhaustion taps her on the shoulder, and Darcy, being Darcy, plows right along through it. 

She should have noticed it was happening again. Fact is, Darcy only realizes something is wrong when she wakes up on Thursday and sees Loki standing over her with an annoyed expression on his face.

“Wzzhu?” Darcy says eloquently. She blinks.

“You fell asleep.” Loki explains patiently.

Darcy blinks again. She’s slumped on the table, and when she casts her mind back she remembers vainly writing her essay about western political thought, and that Loki had been explaining something about Asgard’s lack of dairy products. Darcy inhales, and raises her arms above her head in a stretch. 

“Sorry,” she says, still feeling a little lost from her sudden wake up call. She checks the time on her overhead clock, and sees it’s ten thirty. The black sky in her window informs her that it’s night.

Loki is still hovering nearby, his hands clasped behind his back. “When is the last time you slept?”

“Just now?” Darcy tries, and Loki glares at her. He seems to be deciding something in his head, and reaches a conclusion, for his jaw sets, eyes flashing their saturated green hue.

“Up.” He orders. “Now.” 

“I still have an essay to write,” she starts, but Loki’s already pulling out her chair.

“You can worry about your Midgardian assignments tomorrow.” 

Darcy blinks, and, still-sleepy and suddenly weak, allows herself to be shooed from the table over to the couch. Although she really does have to finish her homework, the couch cushions are undeniably soft, and she relaxes into them almost instantly.

In the kitchen, Loki is being very loud, and not just because he’s buzzing. Darcy watches him open several cupboards and close them again, unsure what was going on. It’s difficult to think, her brain felt soft, and her eyelids would flutter close frequently, flooding her vision with darkness.

It was nice in the darkness. Darcy was very tired. Darcy wanted to sleep. 

“Where is your food?” Loki’s voice asks, sharply.

“Uh,” Darcy says, because apparently her brain isn’t up for coherent sentences today. “I had some.” 

She opens her eyes, and sees Loki standing over her. That’s the second time she’s seen him from this angle, and she finds he’s very _nice_ to look at. “You’re nice to look at.” Darcy says.

Loki looks amused, but it vanishes a second later. His buzz is agitated. “Darcy,” he says, and vaguely she realizes this is the first time he’s used her name, “Focus.”

Darcy’s brain scrambles around, and then she remembers, “I didn’t go shopping today. No time.”

Loki‘s lips thin. “Stay here.” He orders, and with a purple shimmer, voodoo-teleports away.

-

When Darcy wakes up, it’s to the smell of bacon. She stares at the ceiling above her head, and for a moment she’s surprised, because she’s definitely in the living room, and not in her own bed. Darcy rolls over on her side, which gives her a direct view of her tv, turned off. 

She’s lying on the couch. 

There’s something warm and heavy pressed over her body, a blanket, the one made from sheep’s wool her aunt knit her last Christmas, but Darcy doesn’t remember how it got there.

She sits up.

Loki is in her kitchen.

Correction: Loki is _cooking_ in her kitchen.

Darcy tries to stand, and finds her knees instantly give in. When she tries again, this time holding onto the edge of the couch with one hand, she’s able to do so without falling on her face. 

“Good morning.” Darcy says, somewhat groggily. Loki turns around, and sees her.

“Darcy,” he acknowledges tightly, and that’s the second time he’s used her name, then takes something off the stove. A second later he’s walking over to her, balancing two plates, one in each hand, which he sets on the table. Darcy sits down.

There’s bacon on her plate. And eggs. And toast, with something red on it that was probably jam. Strawberry, to be specific. 

Loki has…. cooked her breakfast. Darcy mulls over this action, and side-steps how revolutionary it was, deciding to file it away for processing later. Besides, she’s still too tired to over-analyze Loki’s behavior.

She swallows, her entire mouth filling with saliva. Darcy also wants to ask what he’s doing here, because Loki’s never appeared in the morning before, but she doesn’t really want to talk about last night, so instead she shovels a forkful of eggs into her mouth. 

She chews, swallows, and moans. Either Loki was really good at cooking, or Darcy was just really, really hungry. She takes another bite. Jeez. Loki was _amazing_ at cooking.

Across the table, Loki is watching her carefully. After a moment, he asks, “Are you well?”

Darcy shifts in her seat. “I feel better.” She says shortly, which isn’t a lie.

Loki doesn’t look satisfied with this answer, but he doesn’t pursue the topic further. Perhaps he realizes how hungry Darcy was, which she is just realizing herself, and so he leaves her to eat, picking lazily at his own meal.

As amazing as it was to actually sit down and eat, Darcy eventually forces herself to get up. She takes a quick shower to clear her thoughts and gets dressed - jeans, thick sweater, gloves, teal scarf double looped around her neck. She’s surprised that Loki is still here when she steps out of her bedroom, sitting stiffly in his sofa chair at her table. Darcy searches through her purse when Loki asks,

“Where are you going?”

Darcy continues pilfering through her bag. “I have to go to class. Some of us have school, remember?”

“You’re not attending your class today.”

“What?”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “I contacted your university. You’re ill, and unable to attend due to a common strand of influenza.”

“Oh.” Then, “What? How? Why did you do that?”

Loki fixes her with a _duh_ look. “Last night you were clearly not in the proper mental state to spend an entire day learning. I searched through your computer and found your university’s attendance office,” he waves a hand in a _ta-da_ motion, “You’re ill. Specifically with influenza A H1N1.”

Darcy searches for some feeling of anger, or alarm that Loki blatantly violated her privacy like that, and comes up blank. Instead, she tries to wrap her head around the fact that that’s three nice things Loki has done for her today - fixing her breakfast, calling in sick, and technically he saved her life by forcing her to sleep.

As if reading her thoughts, Loki says, “You owe me an explanation.” It doesn’t take a genius to determine he’s talking about last night.

Darcy doesn’t get embarrassed easily, but she can’t help but feel it now, her cheeks burning slightly under his gaze. “It’s nothing.” Darcy says defensively. “That just happens sometimes.”

Loki’s eyes glitter. “You often starve yourself?”

“I forgot to go shopping.” Darcy counters. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I was fine.” She’s not sure why she’s arguing this point so vehemently, but she is.

“You fell asleep.” Loki points out. “Twice.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, voice low, “The second time you would not wake up.”

Darcy glares at him. She considers telling him she feels uncomfortable, because she knows Loki will stop questioning her, and then they can both forget this ever happened. 

But a twisting feeling in her gut reminds her Loki is _still here_ , and that he’s spent an entire day in her apartment, making sure she was alright. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for her in a long, long time.

She sits opposite Loki at the table, exhales, and rubs her fingers against her temples. “Yeah. I, uh, do this sometimes. Burn myself out. I get very focused on my work, and everything else becomes too much to handle.” She risks a glance at Loki, who’s sitting with an impassive look on his face. “It’s a problem. I know that.”

Carefully, Loki asks, “Why do you ‘burn yourself out?’”

Darcy’s throat feels very thick. “A lot of reasons. At first I don’t realize I’m doing it, and then when I do realize it’s too late. It happens every couple months, and I just deal with it on my own, rest for a couple days, and get back on my feet.” Darcy licks her lips. 

She could elaborate, she could say this is the first time anyone’s noticed that she’s struggling. Or that this is the first time anyone’s found out about her predisposition to working till the point of collapse. That she’s still waiting for him to leave, like everyone else does. But judging by the way Loki’s looking at her, eyes dark, hum sad, he already knows. 

“Thank you.” Darcy says, over the lump in her throat.

Loki nods. He waves his hand, and a moment later, she’s back on the couch. The sheep wool blanket falls into her lap.

“Uh.” says Darcy.

“You’re ill.” Loki reminds her. “It is my understanding I am supposed to make you feel better.”

With that, he marches back into the kitchen, presumably to create some more awesome-tasting snacks.

Darcy blinks, before sinking into the couch. It’s nice, she realizes, to let someone else help her, even if it’s for a little bit.

-

After that, things get exponentially better. 

Darcy spends the entire weekend on the couch being lazy, calling Lu (who informs her she bought a new kettle), playing cards, and she almost wishes she could hire Loki as her personal chef, because _damn_ he could cook. 

Loki doesn’t leave her apartment once, except to purchase more groceries for which he refuses to let Darcy pay him back. Darcy eventually concedes it’s fine, since he’s told her several times money was not a problem, which their earlier conversation confirmed. Besides, Darcy doesn’t have the energy to push it.

Loki sleeps on the couch. Darcy sleeps in her room. Darcy also tries very hard not to think about the fact that Loki is sleeping on her couch.

She gets a good night’s rest for the first time in what feels like _years_ , and when Monday rolls around Darcy feels like herself again.

That morning, before she heads to class, Loki sits across from her while they eat. It’s scrambled eggs with sundried tomatoes this time, and a side of sausage.

Loki reminds her of their agreed upon Rules, and Darcy nods along as she eats.

“I’ll tell you if I’m starting to feel burned out, and you’ll do the same.” She recites. Darcy’s not sure Loki _can_ burn himself out, but they both agreed either way. Internally, Darcy admits that it is pretty dang nice having someone look out for her. She hopes Loki feels the same, and decides that, in some way, she’ll have to return the favor.

-

When she gets home, Darcy tosses her bag on its usual hook, and calls out, “Loki!”

There’s no answer.

For a moment, Darcy thinks something terrible has happened: a break-in that’s left Loki incapacitated, an earthquake or some other natural disaster has rendered him unconscious, and then reality hits her over the head like a ton of bricks.

Loki left. Voodoo-teleported away. Because he had better things to do, probably, than hang around with some sick, college girl.

Darcy tells herself the hollow feeling in her chest has nothing to do with Loki’s absence. She just got used to his presence this weekend, and it feels _jarring_ to find that Loki just left. Without a single word of notice, or explanation.

She opens up her fridge, and heats up a plate of lasagna that Loki had prepared on Saturday. The first five minutes she eats lunch alone, and then turns on the tv. It’s a rerun of an old tv show, and Darcy let’s the candid laughter wash over her, because the room was suddenly way too quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the wait! Loki and Darcy will be back shortly.... stay tuned for heated arguments....


	3. in motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me! Following through on updates!

It’s night. Darcy’s apartment is, as Jane used to call it, a bit of a shit-hole, so you can’t really see the city from her window, but there are sounds that remind you that it’s there. Tonight, it’s a fire on Shmidt Street, so there’s bright flashy lights, sirens, and the annoying screams of civilians echoing into her window.

To block it out, Darcy does what she always does: close the curtains with a little too much hostility, and watch tv. Tonight she’s halfway through _The Lion King_ , because that’s what’s on her cable. Darcy could get out her computer and play something more interesting, but the volume doesn’t go loud enough, and the entire point of this exercise is to drown out the noise. 

At one point Darcy actually starts enjoying herself, aside from the stupid sirens; she even makes herself a large bowl of popcorn, along with a mug of green tea. She’s at the most iconic part of the movie when Loki voodoo teleports into the room.

He stands there silently for a few seconds, listening to the movie play at full blast. Then, he asks, “No worries?”

“For the rest of your days!” Darcy finishes. Now that Loki’s here, she twists her head around to greet him. “How’d you know? Have you seen this movie before?”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Of course not.” At Darcy’s questioning glance, he elaborates, “It’s Swahili.”

Darcy nods. That explained it. Loki spoke all languages.

She twists around and shoves the bowl of popcorn into his hands. “Eat.”

Loki blinks, and although his eyes narrow suspiciously at the popcorn, he holds the bowl anyway. Instead of eating it, however, he hovers over her shoulder and continues to frown at the tv, as if it personally offended him. “Why is that lion _singing_?”

“Because his dad just died. It’s a beloved children’s tale, you wouldn’t understand.” Darcy says with a grin. “By the way, that lion’s name is Simba. This warthog and meerkat are going to adopt him.” 

It’s a pretty poor explanation, so Darcy meanders over the plot in her head, and what she could add to make the movie more interesting. “The warthog and meerkat were afraid of him at first, you know, ‘cuz Simba’s a lion. But then they start singing, and all their problems go away. It’s pretty much your basic Disney movie.” 

Darcy figures if Loki has any other questions, he’d ask. She falls silent. The remainder of the song plays, and suddenly Darcy hears a sickening crack.

She twists her head, and looks up. 

Loki’s eyes are glued to the screen, the green plastic bowl clutched in his hands. Popcorn spills from a large crack at the bottom of the bowl, all over the back of her couch and onto the floor. Some lands in her hair, but Darcy doesn’t notice. 

She’s too focused on the expression on Loki’s face, tight, teeth bared in a motion that’s purely antagonistic, something cold and sinister leaking in the air. 

Darcy flicks off the tv in one smooth motion. She twists around so her back is to the tv and she’s looking up at Loki, knees pushing into the couch cushions, her hands holding onto the back edge of the couch.

With the tv off, the sirens scream into her window, filling the room with their irritating screech. Clearly, the fire in the city was not yet contained.

“Loki?” Darcy questions. 

Loki blinks, and finally tears his eyes away from the black screen and towards her own. Carefully, maintaining eye contact, Darcy places her hands on the plastic bowl, the material smooth and very cold against her fingers. She’s thankful she’s wearing gloves, but not just so Loki won't notice her powers. The bowl was covered in a layer of ice, which Loki was somehow producing.

Her gloved fingers brush lightly over his long, cold ones, and the motion seems to act as some sort of temporary tranquilizer, for Darcy’s able to extract the bowl from Loki’s hands. She places it on the table. The motion spills the remainder of popcorn on the ground, a trail of white and golden kernels.

Darcy bites her lip, and moves closer to where Loki is still standing against the couch. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Darcy doesn’t know what set Loki off. Although she’s drawn her own conclusions on what Loki’s childhood must have been like, she wants to hear it from him. Better to never jump to assumptions, no matter how plausible they may seem.

Loki freezes. For a moment she thinks he’ll vanish, as he always does whenever the conversation topic turns dicey. If he asks her to stop pushing this issue, Darcy will, but instead, Loki stares noncommittally at the floor. Then he snaps his fingers, and the sirens vanish, cloaking the room in silence. It would be more relaxing if Darcy wasn’t so tense, and Loki wasn’t so pale.

“There was a War.” Loki says, finally, voice flat. “Before my time. Between Jotunheim, and Asgard. It started in 965.”

Darcy opens her mouth, but Loki’s already clarifying. “The Jotunheim is one of the Nine Realms, home to the Frost Giants. The Frost Giants are vicious creatures, monsters, led by Laufey, King of the Jotunheim. They sought to destroy the mortal world, and the Nine Realms along with it.

Odin fought against them. He led all of Asgard to the Jotunhiem, stole their casket, depriving the Frost Giants of their power.” A pause. “He also stole a child, left abandoned in Jotunheim.” Another pause. “Laufey’s son.”

_Oh._

“Odin adopted you.” Darcy says, filling in the blanks.

“Yes.” Loki says, voice dripping with venom. “Odin hoped to _use_ me to unite our kingdoms one day.” He casts a glance at the ceiling, briefly, before his lips curve into a vicious smile. “Didn’t work out, did it?”

Darcy mulls over everything he’s told her. Frost Giants. Loki was adopted. Loki was the son of this Laufey guy, a King, who left his child alone, presumably to die. Darcy decides she’s not a fan of Laufey either. “Did you ever try to contact Laufey? Reconnect?”

Loki chuckles darkly. “Reconnect? My father didn’t care to even look for me after Odin, his rival, took me away. He _left_.” He pauses, and it seems for a moment like Loki is reeling his emotions back in. “It matters not. Reconnecting was never an option. I only discovered my true bloodline by accident.”

“Wait. Odin didn’t tell you you were adopted?”

“Correct.”

Darcy shakes her head. She guesses parents were always jerks, even if they were aliens from another planet, and Loki’s upbringing was starting to explain a lot. Odin, she concludes, and Laufey, were both giant dicks. No wonder _The Lion King_ set him off. Darcy makes a note to keep Loki away from movies about adoption or father-issues.

She glances at Loki, who’s staring at her. 

“You’re a Frost Giant?” Darcy questions, although she doesn’t really know what that is. She looks him up and down. “You’re tall. But you don’t look very Giant-y to me. Or Frosty.” Though, looking at her frozen popcorn bowl, the Frosty part made more sense.

“It’s not just size. Frost Giants have a rather distinctive appearance. I’m adept at hiding it.”

“Distinctive how?”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “Cold.”

Darcy snorts. “Oh, I get it now, thanks.” Since Loki seemed reluctant to divulge any more information on his own, Darcy decided to wheedle some more information out of him. This involved her usual ask-fifty-million-questions method.

“C’mon, show me! Do all Frost Giants have green eyes like you do? Oh!” Darcy’s own eyes widen. “Is that why your eyes turned red when you, um,” Darcy trails off, feeling a little hollow at the memory of Loki’s red eyes as he mind-choked her. She steels herself, and perseveres. “Are red eyes a Frost Giant-specific feature?”

Loki glares at her. “Why do you care?”

“Because I just do.” She snaps, which isn’t a particularly good answer, but it’s the truth. “Why do you refuse to show me what a Frost Giant looks like?”

Loki spreads his fingers, and gives her a nasty grin. “Because I just do.”

“Fine.” Darcy huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “But I’m going to keep pestering you until you show me.”

“I repeat. Why do you care?”

“I want to know what you really look like.”

Loki raises an eyebrow at her. “So, look.” He waves a hand from shoulder to hip, splaying his elegant fingers.

Darcy ignores the way her stomach jolts. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Why won’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me? I haven’t turned you into SHIELD, or the Avengers, or the FBI or whoever it is that’s after you. We are friends. I actually _like_ talking to you, and you know I’m not going to get freaked out by some weird alien magic. So I don’t understand why you can’t just _tell me_ -”

“Because I’m a **monster**.” Loki hisses.

Darcy feels like someone punched her in the stomach. “What?”

Loki has fever-bright eyes, and he draws close enough that she can see the flecks of gold inside them, though Darcy’s not sure he's aware of his sudden proximity to her. “I’m a murderer and a liar and a monster. I gain pleasure from their pain. _A Frost Giant_. I’m deficient, I always have been.” His tone is thick with emotion, buzzing pain and anger and so much honesty that it makes her own chest ache.

Darcy’s pretty sure all the blood just left her face. Loki’s buzzing and humming and it’s loud and he’s being _honest_. He actually thinks he’s, he’s… Darcy shakes her head. “That’s not true. You’re not deficient, you’re not a monster-”

“Oh, please.” Loki seethes, and she’s aware, dimly, that their voices have been growing steadily louder with each word, but the anger building in her bones makes it difficult for her to lower it. “Enlighten me with all your Midgardian insights. I kill people, do I not?”

“Yes. But-”

“I maim others for my own enjoyment?

“Yes, but it’s not _because_ you’re a Frost Giant-”

“Then why? What other reason could _possibly_ justify-”

“ _It’s because you’re an asshole_.” Darcy shrieks.

Loki glares at her, chest rising and falling, shoulders raised in aggression. Darcy glares back, just as breathless, the only sound in the room is their breaths, mixing with each exhale.

Slowly, loudly, Loki begins to laugh.

-

Loki doesn’t leave till well into the night. They stay up talking - about little things, chatting about the inconsequential and mundane, and it’s a nice relief after the heaviness of their earlier conversation. By the time Loki does leave, not before fixing the broken popcorn bowl, Darcy checks the time and notes it’s technically the weekend.

She lies in bed, and can’t sleep. There was a lot to think about, and her thoughts swirled around her head like a snowstorm, jumbled as she sorted them out.

Loki was adopted. Darcy files that under her ongoing list of Loki’s sensitive subjects, which already contained SHIELD, the Avengers, and any mention of his family.

Loki was a Frost Giant. Darcy still had no idea how Frost Giants looked like, and it’s not like Google had a page on the different appearances of alien species. However, thinking back on their earlier conversation, she finds her insistence to see Loki’s true form a little hypocritical. Here Darcy was, sleeping in gloves out of fear that Loki would notice her powers. She can’t imagine willingly explaining her powers to him, let alone showing them, so it actually makes sense why he wouldn’t do the same.

 _I’m a monster._ Loki had told her.

Darcy frowns, and tightens her fingers around the edges of her blanket.

No one should feel that way about themselves.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the final stretch here people! Last chapter’s a big ol’ 7 thousand words, so I’m toying with the idea of splitting it.


	4. to a stop

Darcy is hunting through the library. 

Loki has recently taken an interest in Earth’s history, specifically history in the United States, and asked Darcy to pick up some supplementary texts on the Civil War.

Darcy likes the library. It’s peaceful, and while there’s always a number of students occupying the small, rounded tables, or plush sofa chairs, it’s typically quiet, the atmosphere calm and collaborative. Darcy’s spent her fair share of time in the library before Loki, but now she’s in here everyday.

Maneuvering her way around a row of bookshelves, Darcy snags Loki’s last requested book: old, with yellowing pages. She waits in line to check them out, and heaves six texts onto the counter. They fall a little too loudly, and the one with yellow pages raises a thick cloud of dust into the air. Darcy coughs, once again envious of Loki’s handy-dandy ability to remove dust with a snap of her fingers.

James is waiting at the counter. 

“Hey, Darcy,” he says between coughs. 

“Hey, James.” Darcy grins back.

He peers at one of her books. “McPherson?”

“Yeah. Logan’s interested in the Civil War.” Darcy couldn’t very well admit that Loki has been breaking into her apartment and requesting books from her on a daily basis, so she used the clever faux name Logan as a cover - just like she did with her aunt.

James nods, and adjusts the square glasses sitting on his face. “Logan’s moving on from biology?”

“He told me the science was interesting, but ultimately rudimentary.”

James whistles. “He really likes to read, huh?”

“He’s a total dork.” Darcy agrees with a fond grin. She roots around in her purse, fishes out her wallet, and hands James her library card.

She hears the familiar beep as James scans her card, followed by a clacking as he types in several numbers into the computer.

“Well, here you go.” James says, sliding the books across the counter. “I hope your boyfriend enjoys them.”

Darcy’s pretty sure her cheeks have turned a vivid shade of plum red, but refuses to think the reaction over. “Logan’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a close friend.”

“Oh.” James says, and suddenly looks very awkward. He scratches the back of his neck, and adjusts his glasses again. “Uh. Well, in that case, would you like to maybe grab a coffee some time?”

Darcy pauses. She thinks of Loki, of green flashing eyes and an alien hum that makes her skin crawl. She thinks of James, how helpful he’s been, standing uncomfortably before her, shifting from foot to foot while he waits for her response. 

James is cute. James has messy brown hair, and brown eyes, and a shy smile.

“Yeah.” Darcy grins. “I’d like that.”

-

Darcy’s date with James is at five on Wednesday. Darcy’s sole class that day ends at twelve, but James’s shift at the library only ends at four-thirty. They agree to meet at a coffee shop a couple miles from the university’s campus, which is a hour and a half walk away. She thinks they’ll stay there for a couple hours, so when Loki arrives that night, she informs him she might be late tomorrow in case he teleports while she’s out.

“Why?” Loki questions, hovering over her shoulder in the kitchen.

“I have a date.” Darcy says.

Loki frowns. “A date?” Loki has read up on what he previously referred to as _Midgardian courtship rituals_ , so luckily Darcy doesn’t need to explain what this entails. She focuses on cutting tomatoes into thin slices, but they come out as chunks.

There’s a deep, punctuated silence, and Darcy’s not sure why she suddenly feels very tense, and awkward.

“With who?”

“James. The librarian. I told you about him a couple times.”

“Oh.” Loki says. Darcy gets the impression he’s disappointed, and his buzz is a little irritated, but nothing horribly unpleasant. It doesn’t explain why she feels like someone stomped on her insides, however, so Darcy decides not to look up from the cutting board. She slides the tomato chunks onto a plate and brings them to the table where a take-out pizza is waiting, courtesy of Loki’s income.

Loki stares at the pizza, but doesn’t sit down.

“Give me your phone number.” He says, suddenly.

“Okay,” Darcy replies instantly, despite her surprise. Loki pulls out a phone from his pocket, _of course_ he has a phone and _of course_ it’s the latest version, and hands it to her. Darcy, standing quite close, notes Loki smells of something sweet. She types her number in and pushes SAVE. A moment later her phone screen lights up with a new phone number. She adds Loki's contact as Logan to her phone, and they eat.

-

James is dressed in jeans, a t-shirt with some sort of quote on it that Darcy recognizes is from Star Trek, and there’s a jacket slung over his chair. Darcy herself wore leggings, a coat, and a navy blue scarf. She had also put on lipstick, and a layer of eyeshadow.

Darcy orders coffee and a raspberry scone, which James pays for. He also gets a lemon pound cake, and picks at it while they talk.

Darcy learns he’s an English major.

“I really want to be a best-selling novelist.” James says, with a dreamy sort of look in his eye that a wannabe actor might get. “Like Agatha Christie, or Dorothy Sayers. Working at the library is what I do for fun.”

“Cool.” Darcy says. “Do you do any writing now?”

James admits he does, and Darcy even gets him to show her some of his stories. He’s definitely no Agatha Christie, but his writing was pretty high up there, and Darcy finishes feeling pretty impressed. James later tells her his work is inspired by events from his childhood, including a fiasco where someone stole their family dog, JoJo, and the culprit turned out to be their neighbor from across the street. It is all very normal. No one brings up supervillains, the ability to do magic, and James’ eyes remain an almost dull shade of brown.

The coffee shop closes at eight, and they part ways shortly after. Darcy recounts it all in detail to Loki when she gets back.

“It was fine.” Darcy explains. “But we did go to this really cute coffee shop that had sea turtle paintings on the walls, apparently the owners show off a different artist’s work there every month.” She’s lying down on her couch, her head resting on a plushy pillow, staring at the ceiling. Loki is sitting on the couch as well, listening, and her toes occasionally brush his leg as she swings her feet from side to side. She’s wearing emerald socks.

“He’s a part-time librarian, and an English major. Got a big family, and I’m guessing rich. He also has an unhealthy fascination with being a writer.”

Loki didn’t seem particularly interested in James himself, and the buzz around the room was annoyed and disinterested. This conclusion is supported when Loki suddenly asks, “Have you been on many dates?”

“Not that many.” Darcy replies, thinking about it. “As a freshman I dated Josh for a bit, that was nice, but just for fun. Adam broke up with me. Lauren was great, you would have liked her, but she was only here for one semester, and we decided the long-distance thing didn’t work. That was maybe a year ago?” She pauses, lifting her head high enough to give Loki a glance. “What about you?”

Loki looks a little surprised by the question. “Frost Giants don’t date.”

“Then what do they do?”

Loki looks off to the side, and if Darcy didn’t know better she'd think he looked uncomfortable. “When a Frost Giant mates, they stay with that partner for life.”

“Oh.” Huh. “What about Asgardians?”

“For Asgardians, marriage is arranged. As royalty, I would have a say in who I marry, but there is no traditional dating like you do here on Midgard.”

Darcy mulls over this. She looks up at the ceiling, all white walls, save for that one questionable stain she’s tried several times to get rid of. Carefully, she props herself on her elbows, and asks. “Do you _want_ to date?”

Loki stares at her.

Darcy stares back.

There’s a weighted silence, and then Loki replies. “Perhaps.”

Darcy flops back down, smiles, and ignores the jolt she feels every time her feet accidentally brush his leg.

-

Darcy hadn’t planned on going out with James again, but on Saturday she gets a text from his number, explaining that he had a great time, and would like to go out again. Darcy replies in the positive.

This time, the venue is a nice looking place that’s unfortunately far from Darcy’s apartment, in a part of town she’s not entirely familiar with. Her phone informs her she can make it there by bus in a couple hours.

Darcy supposes she could have some fun exploring the town - who is Darcy to say no to new experiences? - and even more time to finish her book on the bus ride over. They agree to meet on Sunday at five, which leaves Darcy with a pretty large gap of time before then.

She spends it wisely. Darcy has a small amount of homework to finish (she got the majority of it done over the course of the week) and settles to work at her kitchen table. She’s halfway done with her government essay when Loki magics his way into the room.

Darcy relaxes instantly at his presence, and she waves.

“What’s new?”

Loki smiles his evil smile. “The Russian federation has just received two dozen crates of SHIELD’s newest weapons.”

“Cool.” Darcy says. “How much did you make?”

“Two million for the grenades. Five for the M16 rifles.”

Darcy’s mouth falls open, and she turns back to her homework, which seems pretty insignificant at the moment, but she’s resolved to get it done. It’ll be even easier to finish now that Loki’s here; he had a surprising amount of knowledge on laws specific to the American government, and served as a human-encyclopedia.

She gets back to work, during which Loki promptly heads to her kitchen and starts doing something noisy. 

In any other instance the sound of metal pots and pans would be annoying, but Loki overlay’s it with his calm, comfortable hum. It puts Darcy at ease, and by the time she’s done with her paper it’s eight thirty, and Loki’s bringing two steaming plates of curry over to the table (Loki has been getting more adventurous in cuisines. He hasn’t quite mastered them all, Italian was nice, and French was a _disaster_ ). He snaps his fingers and her computer vanishes, though Darcy knows it’s safely stored inside her backpack, along with her charger.

They talk, they laugh, and somewhere along the line Darcy brings up her second date.

Loki stiffens, or perhaps she just imagines that he does. She definitely doesn’t imagine the silence that falls over the room, the pleasant-sounding buzz gone, leaving only the tick of her clock and the clattering of utensils.

“I was under the impression your previous date was just ‘fine.’” Loki says icely. 

“Yeah,” Darcy agrees, “But-”

“So why would you need another one?”

Darcy blinks. “I like him.”

Loki stares at her. He abruptly stands up, bolting to his feet so fast the sofa chair slides across the floor. “I have to leave.”

“What?” Darcy protests, standing up to match his stance. “Wait, what’s the problem? Was it-”

“It’s nothing,” Loki _snarls_ , eyes red. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” Darcy says, stepping forward. She ignores the momentary terror that comes with seeing those red eyes again.

Loki shakes his head. “I’m leaving,” he repeats, and as the shimmering purple glow starts to blur out Loki’s form, Darcy reaches out and yanks on his sleeve. The shimmer disappears.

“No.” She snaps. “No. You can’t just, just keep teleporting in and out of my apartment anytime you feel like it! We’re both adults, and we are going to sit down and have a _mature_ conversation about this.”

Loki looks venomous. He stands deathly still, buzzing and humming like something radioactive. His skin is turning a distinctive shade of white. Eyes thin and narrow, he turns his gaze down to Darcy’s hand, which is still holding onto the edge of his sleeve.

When Loki speaks, it’s through gritted teeth. “Release me.” He orders, all stiff and uncomfortable, so Darcy drops her hand instantly.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” She presses, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is it something I said? Something you said? Is it the date?”

“ _Enough._ ” Loki snaps, and Darcy is aware, distinctly, that her hands are turning blue. They’re turning blue and the tips of her fingers are spewing ice, Loki hasn’t noticed but he will, and amidst the panic clawing at her gut, Darcy turns around, and away.

In the reflection of the tv she sees Loki’s eyes glow, right before he disappears with a terrible, loud clash.

Darcy staggers. Her arms are sky blue, veins accented and dark like blueberries, and she wants to scream. Instead, the blue zips up her body, fading out near her waist. Darcy grits her teeth, and ice shoots across the floor.

Furious, Darcy tosses the dishes into the sink with a clatter, turns on the tv, and leaves the icicles to melt into puddles on her floor.

-

Darcy knows she has every right to be angry.

Loki _ditched her_ for no reason in the middle of their dinner, and was it their fight that sparked it, or was Darcy really starting to get annoyed that Loki just _teleported_ into her apartment without her knowledge, whenever he felt like it, without any concept of her personal space. What if she was doing something _really_ private, and he came in? 

She’d thought Loki had grown since his days of throwing tantrums, but clearly Darcy was as wrong. Darcy keeps picturing his eyes, blood red, keeps relieving the terror that Loki would look down and see that her hands were covered in ice.

An entire day of pondering this issue got her nowhere, except reaffirming that Loki was a complete and total asshole (but not because he was a Frost Giant, of course). Another minute passes in which Darcy stews in her toxic loop of thoughts, and then she flips open her phone and calls Lu.

“Hey Darc.” Her aunt’s voice is full of it’s usual chipper attitude, and there’s some clanging in the background, as if Lu was cooking.

“How’s your day been going? How’s Logan?”

Darcy scowls. “We're fighting. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright,” Lu responds, stretching out the word. “Let me tell you about one of my students, then.” Lu was a teacher at a correctional facility. “So, I was heading to work, when…”

Lu goes on a tangent about her job. Despite the storm of anger in her head, Darcy forces herself to focus on Lu’s story, letting her voice wash over her. It’s surprisingly calming, but then again, Lu was always good at helping Darcy calm down. Lu explains that one of her students was getting better, that there’s been real progress in her therapy, and in another month said student would be released. Darcy listens, nods, and eventually feels enough like herself to ask probing questions. 

Darcy only ends the call when she sees the clock says four forty, on a slightly more positive note than before. Now, she tries to push all her negative-Loki thoughts aside, and focus on her upcoming meeting with James. It was time to get ready for her date.

-

Clearly Darcy underestimated how often the bus stops in her neighborhood, for soon she’s shoving her feet into a pair of flats, muttering _shit shit shit_ under her breath. It can’t be Darcy’s fault, really. It takes her a while to get ready when she’s distracted, and Darcy has a shit ton to think about, despite her calming conversation with Lu. 

Darcy had brushed her hair, letting it down loose to pile over her shoulders. She applied some make-up, just like last time, lipstick, eye shadow, and even matched it with her shirt. She wore black gloves and a black skirt, which was a little shorter than she normally wore, but made her legs look _kick-ass_.

Hastily, Darcy jams her keys, wallet, and phone into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She flicks off the lights, and has one foot out the door when she remembers she’s going to be sitting on a bus for two hours.

“Shit.” Darcy mutters, and bolts into her bedroom. She finds her book and shoves the acquired target into her bag. Darcy closes her bedroom door behind her, turns around, and freezes.

Loki was standing in her living room.

Darcy’s mouth opens in an o, and then she briskly walks around him, her flats clicking lightly against the floor. She’s going to ignore him, because here he is teleporting _again_ , and because Darcy is still royally pissed. She’s going to ignore him, and Darcy’s got one hand on the doorknob when Loki walks up to her, stops in front of her, and says,

“Don’t go.”

“...What?”

“Don’t go.” Loki repeats.

Darcy blinks.

This is not a fairytale. 

Loki can’t just magic his way into her life and sweep her off her feet. Darcy has responsibilities and she has a date, a date with a cute, shy librarian who doesn’t kill people, who doesn’t laugh when other people cry.

With the lights off, Loki is shrouded in shadows, just like the rest of her apartment, but she can see the outline of his shoulders, tight and raised, back rod-straight, the crisp folds of his clothing. Loki smells sweet and sharp. He towers over her at his full height, but it’s not intimating, it’s just… there. And his eyes. His eyes flash, otherworldly green, and this close she can see flecks of gold in his pupils, glowing like a star. The only light in the darkness. This is a God who maims people, who murders people, who kills-

“Okay.” Darcy whispers, breathless.

When Loki smiles, it reaches his glowing eyes.

-

They end up sitting on opposite ends of her couch, Loki closest to the door. Darcy slips off her shoes and tucks her bare feet underneath her, warming them up. 

Loki is the one to break the silence. “Are you hungry?”

Darcy finds it in herself to glare at him, because she’s still angry, and definitely not in the mood to be distracted by his questions, as appropriate as they may be. She might have ditched her date for him (an action Darcy is not ready to analyze yet), but they’re still in the middle of a fight. Loki, surprisingly, relents.

“Fine.” His shoulders shift, tensing upwards for the second time that day, though it’s much clearer now that the lights are on. “I apologize for my behavior the other day. It was uncalled for.” Loki doesn’t offer any explanation other than that, and when Darcy’s about to respond, he plods on, “I’ll be more considerate from now on in regards to your personal space. If you still wish me to come here, text me.” He motions his head to the phone, which she took with her to the couch. “I’ll come.”

There’s a pause, and Loki’s glowing eyes flash back and forth across her face, apologetic yet apprehensive, unsure what follows.

“Thanks, that means a lot.” Darcy says, sincerely, She feels stunned by his apology, because Loki actually apologized like a well-adjusted person, instead of pulling his usual shit. There’s a long moment of silence, which Loki apparently doesn’t want to fill.

“I want you to come.” Darcy blurts out then, the words already on her tongue. “I will text you. Just, keep coming. Okay?”

She doesn’t notice the urgency creep into her voice till it’s already there, or how quickly she was ready to forgive him. Loki must notice it, but he just nods, once, quick and decisive. Darcy beams, feeling like a weight was lifted from her chest.

They sit in silence for a moment, the air ripe with tension so thick she can feel it settling against her skin. Darcy is hyper aware of Loki’s presence, of the few feet of space between them, and she can feel his gaze on her, tracing up her skirt in a way that makes her stomach tingle.  
Darcy intentionally stares at the tv in front of her, and their reflection in the black plasma. They look utterly domestic: Loki in form-fitting jeans and a thin shirt, and Darcy in her short skirt and makeup. When Darcy turns back to Loki, he’s still staring at her.

She shudders. “What?”

“Nothing.”

There’s another pause, and Darcy breaks their tension by clearing her throat. “I called my aunt today.”

“Yes?” Loki has heard of Darcy’s aunt before, probably because that’s the only family member she regularly talks with. “Was the conversation pleasant?”

“Very. It was tiring though. After our conversation I wanted to take a power nap.”

Loki looks confused, so Darcy adds, “Remember I told you I was introverted?”

Loki, who has read about different personalities in his psychology phase, nods in understanding. “You are predominantly concerned with your internal thoughts and feelings rather than external things. Socialization drains you, and you prefer to spend time alone to regain your energy.” Loki, as usual, sounds like he’s spitting out a textbook, but Darcy’s used to it, so she nods.

“Exactly. I like to spend time alone and recharge.”

“And what activities do you engage in when you ‘recharge’?

Darcy smiles. “Usually I read a good book with a giant cup of coffee. Lately I’ve been binge watching tv shows.” She pauses. “Have you ever seen _The Flash?_ ”

-

They end up scheduling to watch _The Flash_ tomorrow, because Darcy is growing very tired, and Loki admits he has several nefarious schemes to plan. Darcy had been regretting bringing up the _Flash_ in the first place, knowing all too well Loki’s blatant hatred for their current avenging superheros, but Loki was surprisingly into the idea. Loki agrees to meet Darcy in her living room at seven on Friday, and Darcy dutifully promises to activate her student discount on Netflix.

When Darcy wakes up the next day, she finds it’s noon, which is fine, since Darcy now lets herself sleep in when the weekday is over guilt-free - part of her Don’t Burn Yourself Out pact. She stretches and goes to pull on her gloves - before remembering she doesn’t have to. Loki promised to come only when she texts him, which means Darcy doesn’t have to wear gloves till later on in the day.

At seven. That was their agreed upon time to watch _The Flash_ , over soup and later ice cream.

Darcy sits up in bed. She’s wearing blue pyjama pants with clouds on them, and an old, hand-knit sweater, which generally serves as her sleeping gear. Darcy doesn’t know where the top of her cloud pyjamas went, only that she lost it a considerable time ago.

A square of sunlight pours through her window. Darcy doesn’t feel hungry, but she meanders through the kitchen anyway, settling on a slice of toast which she eats at the table. When she checks her phone, she finds a bunch of missed calls from James, along with several text messages.

_Shit._

In the spontaneity of the moment, informing James that she couldn’t make it to their date had completely skipped Darcy’s mind. Now, a pit of guilt swirling in her stomach, Darcy texts him a long string of apologies, and reminds herself to purchase him a gift to make up for it. A collector's edition of one of Agatha Christie’s novels, perhaps.

She supposes she should feel worse for standing up James, but Darcy doesn’t. Nothing beyond a mild sort of guilt, and as soon as she sets her mind to purchasing him a book ( _And Then There Were None_ is Darcy’s favorite), the guilt ebbs away. Ditching James was not a nice thing to do, yes, but when Darcy casts her mind back to last night all she can think of are twin emerald eyes and pale skin.

The realization sets in, then:

Darcy ditched a date. For Loki. 

A mass murderer. 

And feels utterly unashamed.

With a deciding huff, Darcy decides she can’t deal with a problem of such gravity on her own. Or rather, she can, but doesn’t want to. Besides, in Darcy’s experience, talking through an issue always helps, even if the listening party can’t always give appropriate advice.

Lu answers on the first ring.

“Morning!” Her aunt’s cheerful voice calls through the speakers, and Darcy smiles despite herself.

“Hey, Lu.”

“Hey, Darc. What’s up?”

“I’m having a problem.” Darcy says, which probably wasn’t the wisest choice of words, for the voice on the other line stills.

“A code blue problem?”

“No, not code blue.” Darcy answers immediately, and she hears Lu sigh in what is obvious relief.

“Alright.” Her aunt’s voice is considerably more cheerful. “How can I help?”

“It’s about a boy.” Darcy says, cringing at how cliche that sounds. She promptly explains the entire situation to her aunt, from her casual date with James to ditching James to spend the night with Loki. Except Darcy still says Logan, and tries to ignore the sting inside her chest that comes with lying to her aunt. Again.

“We agreed to watch _The Flash_ tonight.” Darcy concludes.

Her aunt makes a contemplative hum. “Sounds like someone’s goin’ on a date.”

Darcy blanches. “ _No._ ” She retorts, blushing furiously, suddenly glad her aunt can’t see her over the phone. “It’s definitely not a date. We’re just planning to watch a tv show together.”

“Darcy, honey. You said Logan asked you not to go with this James fellow. And you listened. Now I know you. There’s not much in this world that’ll make you stand someone up, or skip out on a responsibility.” A pause. “You like Logan?” Her aunts asks.

Darcy swallows. She pictures LokI, laughing at a book she had given him, making her scrambled eggs and helping her with her assignments. Ice cold eyes that glow and buzz and hum, pale and tall and uniquely, utterly attractive. “Yes.” She admits, and her skin runs hot and cold at the revelation.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Darcy bites her lip. “It’s so much more complicated than that.” She adjusts the phone closer to her ear. “He’s a bad guy, Lu. Who does bad things to good people.”

Her aunt is silent for a long time. Darcy breathes in and out, and hopes Lu doesn’t press this issue that much further. Darcy is pretty sure if her aunt asks for more details, Darcy will spill the beans right here and now, tell her the truth without as much as a second glance. Logan is actually Loki and I think I’m attracted to a mass-murderer. 

A crackle on the other end breaks Darcy’s thoughts. It sounds like Lu is breathing heavily. Then, she asks, carefully, “Does he hurt you?”

Darcy thinks of the first time they met. Of lava red eyes like two twin flames, burning a whole in her chest. Of the air being sucked out of her lungs - slowly, methodically, all full of Loki’s wrath. “Not intentionally.” It sounds bad, she knows it does, but it’s the truth. As close to the truth as Darcy’s willing to admit.

Her aunt speaks again, and this time her tone is serious. “You have to think carefully about this situation, Darcy. I can’t condone any relationship where you feel uncomfortable or in danger, but I also can’t make this decision for you.” It’s not a flat-out answer, but Darcy didn’t expect her aunt to give her one. She’s still thankful for the advice, and tells Lu so. 

When they both hang up, Darcy clutches the phone to her chest, and breathes.

-

Two hours before seven, Darcy is very, very nervous, which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Darcy admits that she _is_ the type of girl to be reduced into a bundle of nerves, but over things like near-death experiences or torture, cute kittens or unusually good ice skating videos, not, you know, _a boy_. Certainly not Loki.

But here she is, standing in front of her closet,  
a churning feeling in her stomach, worried about her clothes - of all things. Darcy doesn’t remember the last time she put this much effort into her outfit, and it’s with mild alarm that she notes she doesn’t have anything _nice_ to wear. 

Yesterday’s skirt and shirt are washing, not that she’d want to wear the same outfit twice. An hour later, she’s rummaged through her entire collection of clothes, and her even more impressive collection of scarves. Eventually Darcy finds a dress at the bottom of her drawer, which she thought she lost ages ago. It’s white and black and a little loose, but Darcy ties a belt around the middle (she totally rocks the belt) and it looks pretty damn good. Plus, it’s short. Darcy can’t pretend she didn’t enjoy the way Loki looked at her last night, eyes trailing up her legs in a way that seemed both innocuous and fervent. Even now, the memory makes her shudder.

After several annoying stints with a curling iron, and some sort of sweet smelling hair product, Darcy concludes her hair finally looked nice. The rectangular mirror mounted in her bathroom confirms this, and her hair hangs loosely across her shoulders, the ends drawn into neat curls.

Darcy has already purchased soup - tomato basil, so Loki doesn’t have to cook - which is sitting on her counter. There are several pints of ice cream in the fridge, and all in all Darcy considers herself well prepared for this evening. She still feels nervous, the occasional jangle in her stomach making her skin flush, but not in a bad way, just different. She hasn’t felt this way in a long time, a combination of nerves and excitement coursing through her body till she’s giddy with both, reminding her this experience is new and exciting and promises to be all kinds of good.

At seven there are three, loud knocks on her door. 

Darcy blinks. She’s not expecting company aside from Loki, and after giving the living room a quick glance to make sure he hasn’t teleported inside, walks over, and opens the door.

Loki smiles at her. “Hello.” He says, utterly polite. “May I come in?” While his expression is calm, his eyes are sparkling, letting Darcy know he’s having way too much fun not teleporting into her living room for a change.

“Nah.” Darcy says. “I’m actually supposed to meet someone in my living room, but he hasn’t shown.” She grins, then steps aside to let Loki in.

Loki walks through the door, circling the table, which gives Darcy ample opportunity to look at him, or rather, stare unabashedly. He’s wearing black again, that familiar rough-yet-warm coat, yet this time it’s accompanied by a dark blue shirt, form-fitting pants that she has to literally tear her eyes away from, and Italian shoes that look incredibly expensive. Her stomach flip-flops.

If Loki notices her staring, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gestures to the twin bowls of soup sitting on the table.

“I didn’t cook it.” Darcy blurts before he can ask. “I thought it would be nice if you didn’t have to do the cooking for a change.” The sentence sounds so utterly domestic, as if they’re already deep in a relationship or something, and Loki simply raises an eyebrow as if he knows exactly what she's thinking, and smirks. Darcy’s cheeks heat up furiously, and she almost ducks her head to avoid his gaze. Instead, she settles at the table.

“Let’s eat.”

They do. Store bought soup tastes good, at least in Darcy’s opinion, and she goes for a round of seconds. Loki clearly dislikes it, judging by the way he only finishes half the first bowl and glowers vengefully at the remains. They debate the flavors for a bit; Loki criticizing the grocery stores for not using enough oregano or fresh tomatoes, and the number of chemicals they add into the meal for preservation. That leaks into a discussion of chemicals in food, and it’s only concluded when Darcy laughs and tells him he’s grown spoiled by his own cooking.

Once the bowls are washed, they transition over to the couch. Darcy picks a spot in the middle, and Loki sits beside her. It’s probably the closest he’s ever been, and her skin practically buzzes at the proximity between them. Loki buzzes _literally_ , all low and tinged with excitement, and it makes her toes curl.

“So. You’ve never seen _The Flash_ ,” Darcy says as she turns on the tv. Loki nods, and Darcy balks.

“Wait. Do you even watch tv? Because every time you come here you have your nose in a book. And when you’re not reading, you’re talking about reading.” Darcy knows they don’t have televisions on Asgard. As well as microwaves. And satellites.

Loki glances at her, hands folded in his lap. “I don’t watch television. I have seen a small selection of movies that Midgardians consider ‘classics,’ but not much else.”

“I bet you’d love documentaries.”

Loki pauses, and smiles. “You are correct. I would like those.”

“What ‘classic’ movies have you seen?”

Loki ticks a few off on his fingers, “The first _Star Wars, Titanic, Casablanca, Dirty Dancing_ ,” and Darcy’s cheeks flush when she realizes what movies are on his list. They’re all things she’s either referenced in conversation or quoted aloud, and although it’s unsurprising that Loki would remember them (as well as the exact conversation, date, and minute she used said quotes), Darcy still feels very, very pleased.

When Loki concludes his catalogue of classic movies, Darcy grins. “Well, here’s one more thing to add to your list. _The Flash_ might not be a typical classic, but it definitely should be.”

They start from episode one, which Darcy has seen several times before. She’s on season four now, and thus her season one _Flash_ knowledge is a little rusty, but it all comes flying back as the first scene plays out.

They’re about five minutes into the opening sequence when Darcy takes her hand and, biting her lip, places it over Loki’s own. 

Loki freezes. 

His eyes widen. 

Darcy crosses one leg over the other, and wordlessly turns back to the tv, waiting to see what he’ll do. Loki’s expression is carefully blank (Darcy can practically _feel_ him thinking), and his surprise lasts another five minutes before he threads his fingers through her own. 

Darcy’s stomach swoops. She’s holding Loki’s hand. She’s holding Loki’s hand, and he isn’t freaking out or running away or asking why she’s wearing her gloves on the couch, just sitting at her side.

They sit like this for the remainder of the episode, Darcy focused on the dialogue, a sudden jolt running through her spine when she shifts and Loki’s hand shifts with her. When the credits flow across the black screen, Darcy pauses the show before the next episode starts, and turns to Loki.

“So? What do ya’ think?”

“It’s curious.” He says, almost to himself.

Darcy blinks.

“There are multiple similarities between this _Flash_ and reality.” Loki clarifies.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I can see a lot of ways this relates to the Avengers.” Darcy glances at Loki out of the corner of her eye, and with relief finds his expression calm. No indication of sudden violence.

“Certainly.” Loki replies smoothly, and Darcy gets the feeling he’s hiding something, but doesn’t press it. “Shall we watch the next one?”

Darcy flicks on the tv in lieu of an answer. Loki’s hand doesn’t leave hers.

-

Three episodes and one ice cream break later, Loki stands up. A quarter-eaten container of mint chip ice cream lies on the table, and Darcy stands up as well to put the dessert away. When she turns around, Loki is standing with his spine against the back edge of the couch, watching her.

“This was fun.” Darcy announces, coming to stand in front of him, with a grin.

Loki doesn’t mirror the sentiment, or respond in any manner aside from tipping his head to the side. He’s still watching her, his luminescent eyes darting back and forth across her own. “Darcy.”

“Yeah?”

“Was this a date?”

“Yes.” She blurts, and in the ensuing silence, Darcy’s brain _blanks_. She’s pretty sure her face mirrors the expression, half-shocked half-panic, but now Loki's face is doing that annoying thing where she can’t tell what he's thinking, and he’s not even buzzing, and _shit_ what if Loki doesn’t even like her? What if-

Loki kisses her. 

Loki _kisses_ her.

Darcy’s brain shuts down. Loki’s lips are soft and cold against her own, he’s an _amazing_ kisser, and her skin is burning so fast and hard that she wants to melt, and just then Darcy remembers exactly who and what she is.

“Bathroom.” She blurts out, tearing herself away, and rushes past him, doesn’t look back till the bathroom door slams shut behind her, locked tight. Darcy sinks against the floor, hot and annoyed and frustrated, and when she finally looks in the mirror, she lets out a shaky sigh. Her shoulders are blue. Her veins are dark, and accented.

_Fuck._

Darcy thinks of Loki in the other room. Her skin changes before her eyes, the color twisting up her collarbones and down her waist and over her knees, till her entire skin is blue. Bright, vivid, blue, veins as dark as blueberries, the blush on her cheeks stands out brightly against it.

Darcy wants to scream. This _cannot_ be happening right now - not with Loki waiting in the other room. She presses her palms into her eyelids, and waits. She thinks of anything and everything, unicorns and computer labs and Loki and emeralds and ice cream, no, that’s not good, that’s too cold, and slowly, finally, her skin reverts to its original shade.

She unlocks the bathroom door, an apology on her lips, but Loki is nowhere to be seen. 

-

Darcy waits in her living room for an entire hour, and only after she’s sure Loki left their date intentionally (her other less likely options being Loki left to buy groceries again, or was stolen by some evil goons) does she text him.

She knows this looks bad. This looks bad specifically from Loki’s point of view. Anyone else would think it was a bit peculiar that Darcy bolted into the bathroom mid-kiss, but for Loki, this was something else entirely. Because Darcy knows Loki, knows he’s smart and sarcastically funny and a complete nerd, knows he doesn’t let people get close (just like her) and she really needs him to bring his ass back to her apartment so she can sit him down and explain why she ran away. Without, you know, revealing her powers, but still.

Her first text goes unanswered. And her second. And her third. And the next two after that. Darcy eventually calls him, and is painfully unsurprised when the call goes to voicemail. The automated system beeps, and Darcy clutches the phone tightly in her hand, and leaves a message.

“Loki, look. Tonight was really, really fun, except those last ten minutes which were a total disaster. I mean, not the entire ten minutes if you know what I mean, just the part where I bolted into the bathroom,” (stop rambling, Darcy tells herself). “Tonight _was_ a date. And I like you. So anytime you feel like you wanna stop being an idiot and answer my texts, I’d like you to please come over so I can explain this entire situation to you-” 

Darcy doesn’t have to speak any longer, for there’s a shimmering purple flash, and Loki’s standing in her apartment once more. Darcy tries not to flinch at how far away he’s standing, almost across the room, as if he wants to put as much distance between himself and her as possible. If she didn’t know him so well she’d think everything was fine, but the buzzing in the room says otherwise - low, hard, and painful.

“Explain.” Loki says, tightly.

“Okay.” Darcy says, and puts down her phone, which was still ringing. “Okay.” Now that Loki’s here, standing in her apartment, Darcy realizes she’s not exactly how to explain this entire situation. She has powers. She likes Loki. Her powers seem to go heywire whenever she’s around Loki. And that, that was… 

Darcy bites her lip. “I. I can’t tell you.”

Loki’s stares at her.

“Look, I want to tell you. I really do. But, I don’t know how you’d react, and it’s just very, um, private.” She finishes lamely.

“Ah.” Loki muses, and if anything he sounds even calmer than he did before, which is worse. “So it’s acceptable for me to reveal my secrets to you, but unacceptable for me to ask the favor in return?”

Darcy swallows. Telling Loki about her powers… she just, she just. Can’t.

“I can’t.” She repeats.

“I told you mine.” Loki says, and now his voice is louder, taking on an edge that makes her skin crawl. “I told you what I am.”

“First of all, you didn’t actually show me what a Frost Giant looks like.” It’s a blatant, cruel distraction, and Loki’s expression turns _deadly_ , although he doesn’t respond. Darcy backpedals quickly, ransacks her brain for any excuse she can think of…. and then she realizes it. 

She has to tell him. 

She’s losing him, the realization hits her like a lightning bolt to the chest, with every denial and rebuttal and evasion and distraction. Later she might think it was ironic. Tell the truth to keep the God of Lies.

“I have powers.”

Loki stares at her. She thinks, for the first time in her life, that she’s left Loki speechless, and she watches his eyes dart up and down her body. No doubt looking for something unusual, something that signifies superhuman ability, and Darcy lets him, though feeling uncomfortable and way too exposed. Then his eyes narrow, and Loki’s shaking his head, looking off to the side.

“Of course,” he mutters. Then, louder, he says, “Your gloves.”

Darcy nods. Slowly, aware that Loki’s eyes are following her every movement, she slips off her gloves, and lays on the table.

Her skin isn’t blue, not yet, and Loki moves closer, which should be a sign that their argument is over, but Darcy doesn’t feel relieved. She’s too nervous. Her hands are exposed and it makes her legs feel weak. She’s nervous and frayed and without her gloves she feels one step away from pure panic. Loki’s eyes watch her curiously, and taking a deep breath, Darcy closes her eyes. 

She thinks about Loki. Loki laughing. Loki reading his stupid book. The way Loki’s lips tasted when he kissed her tonight.

She bites her lower lip. Darcy doesn’t have to open her eyes to know her skin is blue, she can feel it changing, the familiar cold slither up her veins and around her body. She does, though, nervous and tense and her heart beating double fast as she waits for his reaction, and her mouth falls.

Loki is blue. 

Loki’s mouth is open in an o and he’s blue, red eyes wide with surprise and he’s staring at her, unabashedly. Blue. 

Darcy blinks. So _this_ is what a Frost Giant looks like. His skin is blue but pale like the sky, and his veins don’t show, at least not like hers do, instead they’re almost faded out in comparison to his skin tone. His hair is still pushed back behind his ears, and there’s a set of lines on his forehead, curved into a semi-circle. 

_“I’m a monster.”_ Loki has said.

Darcy forgets, she forgets that she’s blue and exposed. She forgets where she is and who she is and who he is, and she brings a hand up, slowly, and presses it against his chest. 

“You’re beautiful.” She murmurs.

That’s the last thing Darcy knows, and then he’s pulling her against him, blue on blue, cold and ice and beautiful and burning.

-

When Darcy wakes up and finds Loki fast asleep on her couch, she smiles. Last night was _awesome_ , unbelievably ridiculously awesome, and it makes her skin shudder with pleasure just thinking about it. 

Loki was blue. Loki is here. Loki knows about her powers. Loki is still here.

Last night, they made out. A lot. Darcy remembers it vividly, and her stomach flips upside down at the memory, a smile skipping on her lips.

And what’s more? Loki asked her out on a second date.

Darcy thinks if she grins any wider her lips will start hurting, but she does it anyway, and tip-toes over to the kitchen. Today, she was going to make breakfast for the both of them. And it might end up burnt and her eggs might flake and it might be a total, complete fail, but it was alright. 

Because Loki is here. With her. In the vivid, cobalt afterglow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know absolutely nothing about Frost Giant mating rituals, or Asgardians ones, so I head-cannoned it. If that upsets you, I don’t care. :)
> 
> Well, this is it folks! Cobalt is complete! As I mentioned in the first chapter, I was writing a sequel, but who knows when or if I’ll finish that. For all intents and purposes, consider this story a done one, and those loose ends that still need to be tied up (Darcy’s powers) will just float and waver in the wind. Thanks for all the positive responses! You guys have been great!


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